


Here End the Verses

by queenoferebor



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - All Female, Drabble, Female Amis de l'ABC, Female Combeferre, Female Courfeyrac, Female Enjolras, Female Javert, Female Jean Prouvaire, Gen, Here End the Verses of Jehan Prouvaire, On The Barricade, POV Enjolras, this is way shorter than i thought it would be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenoferebor/pseuds/queenoferebor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Prouvaire?” No answer. “Jehan?” Enjolras scanned the small crowd around her. She did not see the long, gingery hair of the group’s poet, or her customary floral waistcoat. Where was she? “Jehan Prouvaire?” She repeated, a touch of nervousness sprouting up inside her stomach.<br/>“She’s probably in with the wounded, let me look there.” Courfeyrac disappeared into the cafe’s makeshift hospital. She reappeared a moment or so later, worry creased in her face. “Jehan isn’t in there. She’s not with the dead, either.” The worry in Enjolras’ gut grew. There was only one other place Jehan could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here End the Verses

**Author's Note:**

> Filling a prompt from r-doctor-castiel-pippen-holmes on tumblr. Enjoy!

“Feuilly?” Enjolras called, going through the list of volunteers at the barricade. 

“Here.” The fan-maker replied, near the door of the café. 

“Pontmercy?”

“Here!” Marius’ voice was shaky with adrenaline from the first attack, and she was still clutching the torch she had grabbed in a desperate attempt to repel the guardsmen. Enjolras couldn’t believe the young woman had had the guts to threaten to blow up her barricade. She was even more surprised that it had worked. Perhaps she had underestimated Marius, after all. 

“Prouvaire?” No answer. “Jehan?” Enjolras scanned the small crowd around her. She did not see the long, gingery hair of the group’s poet, or her customary floral waistcoat. Where was she? “Jehan Prouvaire?” She repeated, a touch of nervousness sprouting up inside her stomach.

“She’s probably in with the wounded, let me look there.” Courfeyrac disappeared into the cafe’s makeshift hospital. She reappeared a moment or so later, worry creased in her face. “Jehan isn’t in there. She’s not with the dead, either.” The worry in Enjolras’ gut grew. There was only one other place Jehan could be.

“She’s been taken prisoner.” The revolutionaries were silent as the news washed over them, and then erupted into chaos. Wild plans to ambush the guards, and frantic offers of trading lives whirled around Enjolras as she tried to calm her friends and collect her thoughts. Order would be needed if they were to get Jehan back safe. She shot a pleading look at Courfeyrac, who nodded and stepped forward, her hands raised in a placating gesture, to restore order.

“We need a plan, and quickly. Now, do we- one at a time, ladies. Bahorel, you go first.”

“Enjolras.” Combeferre quietly pulled her away from the group, into the tap-room of the wine shop. The room was dim, illuminated by the quickly fading sunlight. Only the spy, Javert was there, tied to a post. The spy’s head was bowed, and she slumped against the pillar. At a first glance, she seemed to be sleeping. But underneath the civilian’s cap, Javert’s hawk-like eyes were open, focused resolutely on the opposite wall. She turned her head to look when they stepped inside, her glance sharp and defiant, then looked back at the wall.

“They have our friend, we have their agent.” Combeferre’s tone was intense, but she spoke quietly, as if soldiers were waiting outside to hear every word. “Are you set on the death of that spy?” Out of the corner of her eye, Enjolras saw Javert tense. She deserved to die. Enjolras had no respect for those who would willingly work against their own country, and even less for those who tried to harm her friends.

“Yes.” Enjolras gazed at Javert, who gave no sign that she had heard anything. “But less so than on the life of Jehan Prouvaire.” If saving Jehan meant letting that traitor go, then so be it. She would pay anything for her friend’s life. Jehan’s gentle soul was worth 10 of any of the finest national guard’s! 

“I’m going to fasten my handkerchief to my cane, and go out as a flag of truce. We can trade our prisoner for theirs.” Combeferre gestured towards Javert, who was still pretending they did not exist. “Untie her when I get word back” She turned quickly to go, brown hair flying. There was a noise outside. Enjolras pulled Combeferre back by her arm.

“Listen!” Enjolras gripped Combeferre’s sleeve tightly. The other woman paused, frowning. The sound of clattering metal and sharp steps echoed nearby.  _Soldiers_. Enjolras registered blankly.  They must be in a side alley. Suddenly there came a voice, clear and calm. It was Jehan.

“Vive la France! Vive la France! Vive l'avenir!” Combeferre started forwards, but jerked back as a single shot rang out. Enjolras felt the sound as if it were an bullet, striking her heart. Combeferre looked as if the floor had dropped out from under her feet.

“They have killed her.” Combeferre whispered. She turned to her friend, horror carved into her face. A little louder. “They have killed her!”

“‘Ferre-” Enjolras forced herself to speak, to find the words to comfort her friend, but found for once there were none. No, Jehan had been the one who had always had words. Combeferre yanked away, stumbling outside. Enjolras realized that it was completely silent. No, not completely. From the corner came the quiet breathing of Javert. Javert, who was alive instead of Jehan. Jehan was not traitor to her country. But Jehan, who loved flowers and words and France, was dead. Jehan did not deserve to die.

But Javert did.

A cold sorrow settled in Enjolras’ stomach, stinging her eyes. She brushed the tears aside. There would be time for tears later. She turned to Javert, face stone and voice icy. “Your friends have just killed you.” She would be lying if it did not bring a little bit of pleasure to see the sudden fear on Javert’s face, even if that wretched spy hid it seconds later. Enjolras stepped back outside, into the gathering darkness. The sun had just sunk behind the horizon, and Enjolras thought she felt the beginnings of rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at dis-queen-of-erebor!


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